Fallout: New Order
by gaara03061990
Summary: A story I took off a couple of months ago. I'll work on it as best I can. A story of the capital wasteland.
1. Prologue: Temptation

**Fallout: New Order**

**So, my first Fanfic... based on Fallout 3. I honestly wouldn't have guessed it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout 3. It belongs to Bethesda Games studio. **

**So, I hope you enjoy. I doubt you will, though.**

Prologue: Temptation.

Date: March 22nd, 2277

The wasteland: a truly barren wilderness, and so very dangerous. Vast stretches of bare ground and rubble are the main consistencies. The radiated water, sickly coloured and leaving a deep stench in the air, is all too common. Ruins of towns of a civilization where lives were once lived lie strewn along the aberrant country. Corpses of humans, fleshless dogs and mutated bears are seen in every acre. Wormwood winds blow through the hummocks of detritus. Confirmed, a desolate place to be.

And yet, the human race clings to survival, despite everything they have done to hinder themselves from this. Like all species, adaption is intrinsic. Their answer to the disaster that occurred was so typical: as if it was second nature to them. The colossal underground vaults provided infallible protection against the radiation – but the human race could only be contained for so long. Eventually they emerged from the metal enclosures to see what had become of their proud world and, well... such pride no longer existed, apart from those who refused to accept the catastrophe. The main option taken was to create fortifications in key areas of what is now known as 'The Capital Wasteland' and expand from these: the more prosperous of these are Rivet City, the Citadel and Megaton. Separate factions are created continuously as makeshift protectors, each with their own goals. Some travel across the badlands, trading E&A (Equipment and Ammo) to make it through each day. And a very large chunk of them still lie within the vaults, cowering from the hinterlands above – but not all. Some wish for freedom out in the open, for the thrill of near-death on a daily basis. It is from one of these vaults that four of these people emerge, like every wanderer before them, trying to make a name for themselves...

Time: 7:29am.

The escapade was one of good fortune: handed to them, in all honesty. As the darkness became mere shadows in the light, a familiar sound for the barren landscape came into pitch – the footsteps of a group of wasteland inhabitants. However the footsteps belonged to a very dangerous) set of mercenaries – the Talon Company Mercs: to see them so far away from D.C was a rare sight. From the broken fragments of rock emerged four of the darkened-jungle coloured, psychopathic warriors, armed with Chinese assault rifles, combat knifes and frag grenades. To see a group of these assailants so far out from the burnt out remains of D.C was also a rare sight, but it didn't matter to them - they were here to do one thing: seek, destroy and ransack.

The metal grilled door of the vault opened and closed with echoes, in the space of seconds. The four militants rushed forward to the vault's blast door. The head of the group flicked the switch, and the cog-shaped gate monotonously shifted backwards, and to the right. They slowly entered, with guns raised and senses sharpened, taking in the ramshackle appearance of the entrance chamber. There was nothing of value to scavenge from the first room: the four of them took their position at the first automatic door: it shifted upwards. The Mercs advanced, taking in the long corridor for any signs of life.

If they hadn't been so wary of human movement, they might of noticed the tripwire stretching across the open space about a foot off the ground, an inch away from the door. And if they had noticed this, they would've noticed the bottlecap mine connected to it. But they didn't. The first stepped over it unintentionally, but the second dragged his feet. In the silence, there was a 'click'.

BANG.

The Merc who stepped in first was flung off his feet, and sent crashing into the right-hand wall about six feet down. The two who hadn't entered got sent back the way they came – one ended up impaled on the leg of an overturned table. As for the unfortunate one who tripped it... the less said about him the better. The sudden shock of the explosion left as quickly as it had arrived, and a still silence swept upon the vault. It didn't last long: voices called out from within the first corridor:

'Jackpot!'

'Keep it down! They might not be dead yet.'

'I can see what they ate, of course they're fucking dead!' Laughter rang out.

One of the doors cranked open, and a man with a fair amount of muscle stepped out, a .32 pistol toted. He jogged over to the nearest Merc, and promptly shot him in the head (just in case). He looked up from this, and retched slightly. 'Thats some mess. Hey Shanks, you don't wanna see this. It's sick to look at.

'I'll be fine. I'm not a pussy like you. And if it's sick, stop looking at it.'

'Lay off of Browning, will you?' came a third voice from the hallway, 'There are guts sprayed all over the place. It is disgusting, and it's hard to draw your eyes away.'

'Yeah' came the first voice, and a figure began to emerge from the shadows, 'Whats up with you, Shanks? You don't see me insulting everybody in sight.'

'Tch. Sorry' Browning walked over to the final Merc and looked down. 'Seriously Brown, I-'

'Forget it' he said shortly. 'Get their armour on, it looks mostly intact.'

'Sweet! They've even got helmets!' said Delaney, and they set to work, replacing their Vault jumpsuits with the resilient Talons armour. The helmets had darkened visors, making it impossible to tell each other apart – except the fourth, Dunway, who was black.

James Delaney, who wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier and preferred to punch first and think straight later, looked even more dangerous with a rifle. 'At last!' He aimed it at nothing in particular 'I've read about these babies – people are gonna be running scared from me now!'

'Y'know, most people we meet are gonna be armed too, dumbass,' said Dunway, 'And that isn't a BB gun; if you hit us by mistake there isn't a second chance.'

'Least I can shoot straight, Dunway. You couldn't hit a radroach if it was already dead.'

'Yeah, like that's a big target. I'd like to see you hit one of those from 50 fe-'

'Shut the fuck up, both of you,' came Shanks, 'We aren't gonna survive out there if you're like this.'

'We'll be fine. We're not pussies like you,' said Delaney mockingly.

'Fuck off, asshole.'

'Or what, Shanks? You'll shoot me? Oh, I wanna see this, this'll be fun...'

'Seriously Delaney, if you don't lay off us, you getting left behind,' warned Browning.

'Same to you Browning: what're you gonna do?'

'Three guns against one,' he said coolly.

There was a short silence, then James holstered his weapon and walked to the open vault blast door, muttering 'Pussies' before he stepped into the cavern.

Time: 7:37

The metal grilled, semi-boarded door slowly swung open, and in swept the long-awaited sun. Even with the visors, the four former vault dwellers shielded their eyes. They had never seen the outside world before - and now they knew what had become of the planet. They hadn't expected any better though – their guardians and mechanical servants had told them enough about that. In the north-eastern distance was the remnant of a highway with the rising sun between its 'legs'. There was nothing else but dust swept rocks and a couple of nearby skeletons.

'So what do you suggest, Brown?' came Shanks' question.

The former clicked his tongue and over to and up a small mound nearby. The slight higher ground didn't help: there wasn't anything definite to see. All he could make out was a darkened mass of shapes beyond the highway.

'There could be a settlement past the highway over there,' he said, pointing in said direction 'I can't see anything else worthwhile. That's my suggestion, but I'm open to other options.'

'Fine by me.'

'I'm up for it, just try to stop me,' said Delaney, 'Lead the way Brownie, I'm behind ya!'

'Unanimous,' muttered Dunway.

'Alright then,' said the apparent leader, 'let's move. Stay sharp, fellas, anything could be out here...'

**Like I said; the mere prologue.**

**Pretty pathetic when I look back at it. Anyway, rate and review (if you want).**

**Chapter 2 will be coming as soon as possible.**


	2. Chapter 1: Highway under construction

**Fallout: New Order**

**Same as before: I do not own Fallout 3. It belongs to Bethesda Games Studio.**

**Chapter 1 is up (as I hope you can tell). Remember the M rating? Here it comes...**

Chapter 1: Highway under Construction

Time: 7:48

_Huh. I missed something._

The remnants of the escapade of the four former Vault members were all too obvious in the dimly lit room. A man dressed in a black leather jacket and battered army pants was bending over one of the four corpses (or three and what was left of the fourth).

_Stripped of all worthy items. Including the armour: someone wanted out of here._

His line of vision drew to the hallway beyond the doorway in front of him. It looked mundane and unappealing for human life:

_Just like any vault._

The wanderer walked gingerly into the stomach-splattered hall and sifted through the remains.

_Hello..._

A small part of a black module, with a flipswitch, laid smoking slightly near the west wall.

_A_ _sensor module. Seems they knew what they were doing. To assemble a working bottlecap mine..._

Scanning the pool more thoroughly, a few fragments of a lunchbox could be seen. Also noticed was part of the shoulder armour of the obliterated Merc. This also got the wanderer's interest.

_Talons Company? What were they doing so far out of D.C? Only a private contract could lure them this distance..._

The man walked down the hallway and to the right. A rusty set of stairs led upwards at the end.

_Must be a terminal around here... I need answers. It seems changes have come over Vault 124... cap-worthy changes, if the Talons were here..._

Time: 7:51

'...Didn't mean to tick you off back there, Chris, I-'

'Shanks, it's Shanks, remember?'

'Yeah, yeah. Sorry, i forgot,' said Delaney, whose eyes drew to the encroaching highway.

'And forget it, okay? I ain't gonna get much better out here.' Shanks gazed past the pillars of the high road: it was beyond what any of them had expected. The lifelessness of the world in front of them was energy draining, with no defining landmark to be seen. The shadow of the remaining structure of the highway had engulfed them, and they moved with caution, following the dim light of their pip-boys: the darkened shapes they had seen earlier turned out to be makeshift shacks constructed out of rusting and rusted sheet metal. Wooden planks had been hurriedly placed on the floor to protect against the rock underfoot. A few tables were up against the inner walls. They were under the remnants of the highway, with the shacks about twenty metres ahead of them, surrounded by clusters of rocks and boulders. From what Browning (at the head of the group) could see, there were no inhabitants.

'You see anything up front, Brownie?'

'Nothing moving,' was the reply. He re-scanned the area along the barrel of his readied rifle.

'Whats with the markings on the walls?'

'Dunno, Chris. Maybe it's a gang symbol or something...'

'Well, there ain't no gang here now,' muttered Delaney, 'Finders-keepers, I say.'

'We don't know that Del.'

'Are you fucking blind?! It's empty! It couldn't get-'

'It could be a set-up,' said Shanks, patience once again running thin.

'What do you mean a set-up? We've only been out here about twe-'

'Get down!' hissed Dunway abruptly 'And you two, shut the hell up!'

The four crouched down, and silence swept over the small clearing. The ochre dirt swept up around them as they waited with tension. As in any moment of silence, noises seemed to spring from the most unlikely of places. Although three of the unit had no idea what was the disturbance.

'Dunway!' snapped Browning, 'What the hell are you getting jumpy for? There's nothing-

'Shut up! Listen!' They waited several seconds more for the noise source. Delaney opened his mouth to object, but he didn't get the chance. Through all the noises in the small opening they were in, a high-pitched howling could be heard. After a couple of seconds, it stopped, and scrabbling footsteps could be made out from the stones. The rifles went up... and pointed at a molerat. Delaney lowered his weapon in disbelief, and hissed:

'That's it? A fucking molerat? Jesus, Dunway, you got us worked up for that?'

'Fuck you. I didn't know what it was, it could have been anything.'

The molerat let out another howl, its beaver-like front teeth agape in a yawn. It hadn't seen them yet.

'Why don't you go and shoot it then Del, if it's 'that's it'.

'I ain't wasting my ammo on a fucking molerat. I'll use a knife, if anything.'

'Well, one of you get rid of it,' snapped Shanks.

'Alright, alright,' muttered Dunway, and he took up rifle and slowly aimed. He let out a whistle: the molerat was alerted to this, and charged at the crouching figure. Dunway steadied himself, and opened fire:

The molerat's brains (what little of them there was) splashed out behind it and its body hit the floor with a thump. The gunshots had pierced the silence like a harpoon through a calm body of water. After a couple of seconds, the four of them breathed out: the burst of violence seemed to relieve them of their tension.

'Well now you three now,' said Dunway smugly, standing up to halt sudden cramping, 'That's how it is do-'

A deep gunshot rang out all of a sudden. Dunway was stopped from making his boast, as the majority of his head came splattering off his body and spread out on the ground behind him. His torso remained upright for about three seconds, before slowly dropping down to the floor.

The remaining three watched this in awe and horror as their friend met a truly unpleasant end. Then Delaney let out an unholy yell of anger, and opened fire at the boulders where the round had come from.

'Del, get down!' called out Browning, running over towards him. However, the sniper gave out his second bullet, catching Browning in the back of his head. It went out through his right eye and thudded into the rock wall beyond him. Browning crashed to the floor, a pool of blood and brain remnants already forming.

'Brown!' cried out Shanks, and leapt out at Delaney, who was emptying his magazine uselessly. Del was thrown to one side, just as a third shot rang out. It caught Shanks in the shoulder, twisting the wastelander's body around and down to the ground. Del, in utter fury, reloaded his rifle, and let off another stream of bullets at the unidentified assailant. A sudden flash of red was seen from the ledge, and Delaney cheered as Shanks looked up, clutching the bleeding shoulder.

'Are you okay?' said James, crouching down to Shanks, who turned over slightly to lean on the unharmed, right shoulder.

'I'm fine,' said Chris, and let out a slight cry of pain,' But what about Bro- LOOK OUT!'

Delaney turned around to see a brown skinned man, in battered – what could be almost called tribal – heavy fabric clothes, with a spiked leather shoulder pad attached with a strap, and a sledgehammer on his bare back. A sawn-off shotgun was pointed towards James. The latter suddenly jumped to his side and aimed his rifle, but the raider was too fast. He let off both barrels – they caught Delaney in the chest.

'No!' said Chris weakly from the ground, 'James!' With desperation, the wounded wanderer crawled toward his now motionless body, but a gun barrel was pressed against the back of the stolen helmet.

'Don't move, you piece of shit,' came a deep rustic voice from above. Shanks stopped moving, and watched as two other men went over to Del's corpse and looted anything of value: the remaining 5.56mm clip, the rifle and a stimpack he'd stolen from the Vault clinic. Turning the other way, Shanks could see the same thing happening to the other two, while a small group of raiders stood at the clearing entrance on lookout. Another push on the head from the barrel was reason enough for Shanks to stop moving and go limp. After a minute, the raiders came together around the wounded Shanks, talking amongst themselves and smirking at their work. One of them, in nearly full metal armour, stepped forward and leaned down to Shanks.

'Not such a bad-ass now, are you? I think we'll add him to our wall...' There was a low muttering of agreement and laughter. With a gesture he said 'Bring him. And take that machine thing off his arm.'

Three of the raiders bent down and vehemently pulled off the pip-boy from Shanks' right arm. The .308 sniper round had go through the bone, and with every movement sent paroxysms of pain through the right arm. Shanks kept letting out pained noises – which was stopped with a quick kick in the ribs. As Chris was dragged away, the three corpses were also removed of their pip-boys. Shanks was floating in and out of consciousness, against the deaths of Browning, Delaney and Dunway and the slow-numbing pain of the bullet wound. The raiders walked past the shacks to an open yard area with several metal girders sticking out of the ground and a couple more attaching two to each other. They flung Shanks against one of these, and began to spread out and around in a semi-circle. With a hand against the wound, Shanks looked around for some form of escape route. Behind the set of girders was a wall made of rusty sheet metal, with darkened shapes attached across it and a doorway cut out at the centre – but the shadow of a raider streaked across the rectangular hole. There was also a makeshift set of stairs to a higher level platform, also made of sheet metal. Another sniper stood watch there. The apparent leader of the group bent down to Shanks' level and growled: 'Your last hour on this fucked-up planet is with us. It ain't your lucky day, asshole...'

Time: 8:00

The grilled door of Vault 124 closed with a dull thud, and the leather clad wanderer stepped out, fiddling with his modified pip-boy 3000, reading and re-reading the information gained from the vault's master terminal. His assumption had been correct: a private contract had been assigned to the Talon Company, although not for a random assassination.

_To think that this is what they are doing. Things must be really desperate in D.C if they are resorting to such volatile methods._

He verified the location of the nearest big town: Megaton, northeast, a day's he began to walk toward the highway remnants in his path, a single thought ran through his mind:

_People need to know their limitations._

Time: 8:01

The raider leader pushed his head very closely against Shanks' helmeted one. His breath reeked with heavy spirits and raw meat. His dark-tanned skin was encrusted with blisters and sores (as were most of the others). He scratched his chin stubble with a semi-gloved hand. He reached towards Shanks, and brushed the slightly battered armour. 'You think wearing that armour makes you powerful? Well look at you now: you've got nothing on us. You're not a fucking Merc. What the hell are you, to walk into our camp? A dumbass, that's what.' The raiders let out burst of laughter. 'So what were you and those three retards doing here?' Shanks, feeling it was the best thing to do, didn't answer. 'Playing the tough guy... let's see how long it lasts with me. Cos at the end of it all, you're just a brick on my wall.'

With another gesture, he pointed at the metal wall. Shanks looked again – and suddenly saw what the lumps were.

Human corpses. Decapitated, dismembered, torn open, left to slowly rot in the burning sun. Metal bars rammed through them to hold them aloft. Shanks stared with rising terror at the congealed limb holes and blackening skin – and tried to get up and away, but the leading raider stopped that.

'We keep the heads behind there. It'll be good to see another one added to the collection - it's been so long, hasn't it, boys?' There were loud calls of agreement. 'So let's see how ugly this motherfucker is.' With that, he reached down and grabbed the bottom of the visor, and pulled off Shanks' helmet.

As it hit the floor with a dull thud, the raiders stared in surprise for a moment – then smiled maliciously and with perverse reasons. For it turned out that Chris Shanks, was in fact Christine Shanks. Her brown hair unravelled from being inside the helmet, falling to below her shoulder blades. She looked up at the leader, high levels of fear inside her hazel eyes. The metal armoured psycho tilted up her chin and stared directly into her well-defined face.

'Well now. This is a turn-up... and a turn-on as well.' The other raiders laughed again. 'I wonder how good you are... heh.' He stared down at her chest armour. 'That must be awful tight on your titties. How about I relieve them?' Christine backed against the girder fully - and felt the combat knife she'd hidden adroitly behind her back. She watched him reached over and grab the bottom of the armour, and he spoke to his comrades: 'Help me out here.' For this brief moment, he took his eyes off Shanks, which was all she needed. She quickly brought her head forward, and bit down viciously on his upper lip. The blood spurted out as he yelled in pain, and Christine struck out again: she revealed the knife, and drove it into his crotch.

His scrotum split open, and the blade cut into his penis, spewing out blood and a yellowish liquid. The raider screamed as Christine pulled it back out, the edge slicing into his right testis. As he fell to his knees, she stood up and raised the knife above her head. However, before she could drive it into his neck, a raider surged up to her and swung at her with a tire iron. It caught her squarely in the right cheek, sending a spray of red and one of her molars outward. Shanks was thrown off balance, but managed to stay on her feet, and held out the combat knife at arm's length. The raiders slowly circled her, although they kept their distance for the moment, and kept their guns away in case of an accidental quick death. A few helped the leader to his feet: the latter's face was an image of pure contorted rage. A baseball bat-wielding raider lurched toward Shanks, who cut at his arm, leaving a shallow wound. Another threw a spiked-gauntlet punch, but she ducked and backed away.

'Screw this!' said another raider, pulled out a .32 pistol, aimed and fired. The bullet went into her gut, and embedded itself there. Christine doubled up, then dropped to her knees and coughed up blood. The raiders then moved in for the kill. With a hefty swing, another raider swung his sledgehammer into the bottom of her jaw: it cracked as her head lolled backwards. The castrated leader screamed in fury, and pushed aside his followers to get at his prey. Christine had slumped face up onto the ground, and as she tried to get up, the leader punched her squarely in the forehead, sending her crashing backwards. He then knelt down on her stomach, making her cry out in agony, and slid on his brass knuckles. As Christine looked up at him, he crashed his fist into her cheekbone, slamming her head back again. He them did a continuous procedure of punching left-right, left-right, for about a minute. On the final punch, two more teeth found their way out of her swelling mouth. Her face was streaked with blood, and she was barely conscious. He then gestured to his raiders: 'Get this bitch's armour off, we're hooking her up.'

They pulled the chest plate off her with slight difficulty, and then removed the leather padded pants. While this was happening, a separate raider handed two rusty hooks to the leader, who armed himself professionally with them. When she was removed of all protection clothing, he grabbed the front of her under vest, and pulled her back up. Two raiders held her up, each one forcing out one arm. The leader took hold of his hooks, and drove one of them through her right palm. Christine let out a scream despite her mashed face, and again as he did the same with the other. He then tied a rope to one, threw it over one of the horizontal girders, and attached the other end to the other hook. Shanks groaned in agony as the blood streamed down her arms. Her feet brushed against the ground, relieving her hands of a small amount of the pain. Before he stood aside, he reached up, took hold of the front of her under vest and tore it off, and then pulled off her denim shorts. He smiled despite the numbing torture of his disabled testicles, and turned to his raiders.

'Alright, bitches, take it away. Just make sure you don't kill her, all right dumbasses?' Then, he stepped aside.

The next fifteen minutes were the most ghastly, sickening and painful minutes of her life up to that point. Each and every raider (a grand total of fifteen) spent a minute inflicting as much pain on Christine as possible, while keeping her alive and conscious. All swung a melee weapon of some sort at her body, breaking bones and raising bruises and cutting her skin. Many of them also fingered her (as an added bonus). When each of them had their fill, the leader stepped up to her limp, blood strewn, broken body, and took hold of the knife she had carried. With two quick flashes, he made a cut in each of her breasts, to make sure she was awake. He then thrust it into her side, between her two lowest ribs. The blood leaked out, and Christine gasped weakly at the dull jolt in her chest, knowing some organ haad been pierced. He twisted the blade a bit, and then pulled it out, allowing the blood to flow with ease. There was a small pool beneath her motionless feet. He tossed the knife aside, and pulled out his own .32 calibre revolver.

'Well, princess, this is where it ends. But I need to pay you back for what you did to me.' Shanks looked at him through blackened, puffy eyes. 'An eye for an eye.' He suddenly slid the gun barrel into her groin. Christine would've made some noise to indicate pain, but all her energy could only make a wince. Most of her body, particularly her right shoulder and her navel, had gone numb with the pain. Her normally lightly tanned skin had gone pale with blood loss, which was over most of her body. Her consciousness swam and began to fade as the leader spoke again: 'I bet it was as good for you as it was good for us. So, nighty-night, you little bitch.' He cocked his gun, and slowly squeezed the trigger: the very last thing before Christine blacked out, was the single, solitary gunshot.

**There you are. A bit of thrill (i hope), violence (i know) and story expansion (I'm dreaming). I hope this is an improvement from the prologue.**

**Rate and review if you wish. Sorry for those who waited for this chapter to come out (talking to myself here).**

**Until next chapter, farewell.**


	3. Chapter 2: Ceremony

**Fallout: New Order**

**Once again: I do not own Fallout 3. It belongs to Bethesda games studio.**

**Hopefully something interesting will happen in this chapter, because there has been fuck all importance so far.**

**So anyway, here's Chapter 2. It's terrible, but it could be worse.**

Chapter 2: Ceremony.

Time: 19:51

The broken roads and small rises of the ground stretched out in an infinite brushstroke of decaying and sickly colours. With the sun now low in the sky and casting dancing shadows across the interminable plains of the wasteland, a dust storm was picking up speed and build, obscuring most physical sights from the human eye. The eye of said storm was travelling westwards, and had just past Springvale School. As the last gale winds blew by, the main doors of the building opened, revealing the leathered wanderer. His face was weather beaten and lightly sunburnt, and showed the fatigue of a day's walk in the wasteland. He looked southbound to see the tall, dark shape of Megaton, and slowly trekked towards the android guarded doors. He had struggled: carrying an extra weight on his back had slowed him down, and left him with more vulnerability to animal and/or raider attacks. The journey seemed harsher, and the sun seemed hotter: it was strange for travelling to wear him down; he'd been out in the wasteland for a long time, and knew the weather patterns. The effects of the travelling suddenly peaked: as the doors came into view, his legs buckled beneath him, and he dropped to his knees.

_Get the fuck up, you piece of shit. The town's right in front of you._

As he forcefully moved his legs out from underneath him, the doors opened and a well-built man in a sheriff's jacket and hat stepped out. The wanderer recognized him from previous visits to Megaton.

_Lucas_ _Simms. Of course, he's locking up for the night. It's my cue._

The wanderer pulled out his .44 magnum revolver from his jacket pocket, and let off two rounds in the air. Lucas Simms looked to the source of the noise - and just saw the blurred figure on the dune. He ran over to him and helped him up.

'Good to see you return. How are – what the hell?' His eyes drew to the object on the former's back.

'I'll explain in a minute. Just help me get it indoors.'

'Alright. Head to the clinic, he'll take care of things.' Simms took hold of the weight source and threw it over his shoulder, before jogging towards the Megaton entrance.

Time: 10:17, the next day.

'People are gonna be running scared...!'

'I can see what he fucking ate, of course...!'

_James..._

'Stay sharp fellas...'

_Browning..._

'Unanimous.'

_Dunway..._

'If we're leaving this vault, we ain't splitting up.'

'Yeah, we flip off death in his fuck ugly face!'

'Nothing will stop us. No fucking way.'

_We told ourselves..._

'We have to be careful...'

_...That to take on the wasteland..._

'...Out there be monsters.'

_...Survival is everything._

An explosion of blood and brains as Dunway curves downwards.

The echoing thud of Browning's lifeless body.

The glow of red from Delaney's chest.

_Dead, dead, dead..._

-#-#-#-#-

Christine snapped open her eyes and sat bolt upright on a risen mattress. The memory of her friends was engraved in her mind.

_Dead, dead, dead..._

She felt her insides churn up, and lurch slightly.

_I'll be fine. I'm not a pussy..._

But she couldn't hold in the tears. She began to cry into her hands, the droplets leaking out and pouring down her bandaged face. She let all her emotion pour out, lasting for several minutes, before mild dehydration set in and she stopped, rubbing her red eyes and hiccupping profusely. She looked around the small room she was in: apart from two other beds and a doorway, it was bare.

'Where the hell am I?' she said aloud, then startled. It was anxious to her just how weak she sounded. She swung her bare legs over the side of the bed – and immediately screamed in pain as her broken femurs scraped together.

'FUCK!' She slammed herself back on the bed – and let out another pained cry. Her head pounded from the head trauma, and she clasped it in her broken hands. The pain was overwhelming and her vision blurred once again. From her view on the bed two shadows entered the room and loomed over her, and as she blacked out one took hold of her arm and pressed down.

The wanderer watched as Christine's body go limp and silent. He then turned to Doctor Church, the skilled but short-tempered medical expert of Megaton. The latter was placing a syringe in a small metal container, and let out a heavy breath.

'Jesus H. Christ.'

'I take it you're as surprised as I am. That's some recovery time for someone who got enough bones broke and blood lost to satisfy half a dozen people.'

'How the hell... Jesus,' muttered Doc, 'Both femurs were snapped into three pieces, and one of her lungs was pierced. And somehow she got up from it all. It's a fucking miracle.'

'There isn't such thing as miracles,' growled the wanderer, 'Or anything else like it. Let me know when she gathers her senses.' He turned and left Doc to check for sudden burst contusions.

Time: 18:54.

_It ain't your lucky day asshole... A dumbass, that's what... we're hooking her up... make sure you don't kill her... Well princess, this is where it ends..._

_ Nighty-night bitch._

_ Gunshot._

Christine awoke again – though this time she remained momentarily still. Slowly, she lifted up her head, which was throbbing for some unknown reason, and looked down at herself. Her lower torso, her upper legs and lower right leg, her arms, her right shoulder and the index and middle finger of her left hand were bandaged. There were also plaster strips along her leftcollarbone, at the bottom of both of her breasts and her left lower ribs. She also noticed that apart from these medical aids, she was naked. So it was slightly embarrassing for her when a middle-aged black man walked into the room with her on full display.

'So you're awake again. Tch. I gotta admit, you're something else kid,' he said in a rather unfathomable tone, although Christine felt it wavering toward a cold streak, 'Most people would be dead with half the injuries you've got. I thought you'd last an hour at most.'

'I'm sorry i didn't live up to your expectations,' she replied croakily, and slowly sat herself up, 'I was attacked by raiders, and-'

'Whoa, there,' he said, a bit more friendliness in his voice, 'Relax. Lie down, you've got to let your bones set and heal up. I can only do so much.'

'But what happened? Who found me? How long have - '

'Seriously, shut up.' His voice sounded realistic when cold. 'You've been out for over a day. Now lie down and stay still while I find the guy that pulled you in. He wants to speak to you.'

'Wait a second.' The Doc stared at her impatiently. 'I'm sorta on display here. Can you cover me up?'

'Oh for Christ's sake...' he muttered, and got a small blanket from outside her room, and covered her privates.

'Thank you,' she said as he left, 'At least now I'm not freezing my tits off.' She looked up at the rusty ceiling, and listened to the footsteps outside, with the occasional couple of words of a random conversation reaching her bandaged face. Her tiredness caught up on her, and she started to drift off, thoughts flowing through her mind. _Maybe Doc is right. I should just relax and get my strength back... I can sort out the – what are they called? - raider problem later on..._

Christine lets her thoughts drift away – until a strange feeling came over her, as if she was being watched. She re-opened her eyes cautiously – and looked to her left. The wanderer, in his black worn out jacket, brown body warmer , white t-shirt and battered blue-grey jeans, was sitting on a chair previously not in the room, looking over her dusty pip-boy. His black eyes looked up briefly, before returned to the high tech mini-machine.

'Umm... hello?' she said tentatively. He looked up again.

'You know… this is a rather technically-abused pip-boy, having the same attributes and mods as the 3000A type: you really need to upgrade.'

There were a few seconds of awkward silence, before she said: 'Okay, I'll try again. Hello?'

'What were you thinking, may I ask,' his voice was very nonchalant, 'when you decided to walk into that raider-infested camp? Did you think you'd get a high out of the noise and the blood? Or was it intentional for the four of you to get yourself killed?'

Christine, losing her memory of her injuries, her common sense and her temper, lunged at the wanderer. She hit the floor with a crack of bones and a cry of pain. The man prodded her with his foot, adding: 'Your legs – both of them – are still broken. If you're to get angry, shout meaningless insults at me, it's the best choice for a semi-dead retard like you.'

There was a couple of moments silence while Christine tried to let herself calm down and bear the pain she was feeling. She dragged herself to beside the bed, and turned to the wanderer; he was looking at the pip-boy again.

'Will you fucking help me up?' she said impatiently, and then groaned as her ribs jarred. The stranger looked at her for a couple of seconds, before taking her not-as-ruined right arm. It took almost a minute. When she was lying back down, he sat back on the chair again.

'So, just who are you?' Christine asked, trying to sound civil.

'Does it really matter who I am?'

'Well, yeah. You saved my life out there. You could have just left me to rot. But you didn't: so yeah, I'd like to know your name.' There was a pause, then: 'Actually, what happened to those – what are they called - raiders? They said they were gonna kill me, but… did they get bo-'

'They didn't get a chance to kill you, that's what happened,' the wanderer growled.

'That's not what it felt like.'

'Obviously not. But the finishing touch wasn't applied for a reason.' A pause, before 'I made sure of that.'

_'I bet it was as good for you as it was good for us. So, nighty-night, you little bitch.' He cocked his gun, and slowly squeezed the trigger: the very last thing before Christine blacked out, was the single, solitary gunshot._

_ The silence that followed was not one of defeated silence, but of horrific awe. The lead raider never got round to fully pulling the trigger. Someone had shot him down, blowing open and apart his head in doing so. Clots of blood and greyish-pink gristle spattered out in a shotgun pellet-like fashion. His hand let go of the pistol, and the barrel slid out of the unconscious Christine's blood splashed groin. The dull clunk was disturbingly audible. Two of the raiders that were armed with sniper rifles immediately pointed in the direction the bullet came from, eyes looking down the cylindrical scopes, searching with a horizontal sweep over the outer reaches of their territory. As if in response to their sudden caution, the gunman let off a second round. It exploded through the air and found its mark between the eyes of one of the sniper-equipped raiders. A visceral red-black condiment of brains came out of where the back of the raiders head once was. He hit the metal roof with a bounce, his corpse spiralling down off the edge and smashed into the rock floor below. The blood pooled out and around very, very quickly. Several raiders backed off and turned their full attention to the landscape from where the shots came._

_ Through the scopes, the raiders semi-analyzed the man who thought it was smart to shoot at their group. They were more than surprised to see a skinny leather-clad runt with a pistol that was bigger than him. Taking control of their position, the two remaining sniper-raiders fired at the stranger. He started to walk quickly to the left, circling towards the 'hideout'. The.308 rounds cut through his jacket, missing his torso by inches. Several ground raiders opened fire, their assault rifles blazing. Their target crouched down behind a small rock pile around twenty metres away, readying his magnum in his right hand. The bullets cracked on the rocks, sending pebble spray upwards. The stranger counted the seconds down in his head; '_Three, two, one…' _One of the raiders stopped firing to reload. He poked his head out slightly, aimed the gun to the distracted raider and fired. The round went through his tanned neck, taking off his mohawked head and gushing out a spray of blood from his neck stump. The ammo clip dropped out of his motionless hand, sending its deadly contents across the ground. 'Shit! Kill the fucker!' said one of the other attackers as he continued to fire. They were his last words: three seconds after, a second round hit him in the exact same limb as his former comrade. The other two backed off, still firing, only to be decapitated in the same fashion. The snipers had moved backwards for a little extra cover, but nothing came of their slight retreat: their heads exploded in the spacer of three seconds. The remaining dozen or so raiders had began to come to join their comrades, but shuddered slightly at how accurate the mystery man was. They backed off into the shack._

_ 'Surround him,' muttered one of them, possibly a sub-leader, armed with a combat shotgun, 'He can't take us on from all sides.' There were nods of agreement, and several of them went to the opposite side of the building. There was a couple seconds pause, before the new leader signalled them to move out. They went out in the two groups, all twelve barrels pointing towards the now bullet-strewn rock pile. Three raiders moved past the leader and moved with caution around their target's location. The one at the head suddenly jumped forward to behind the rock-pile and shot several rounds at where the man once was. He signalled this to the leader. The latter frowned, lowering his shotgun; 'What… where did he hi-'_

_ His thoughts were cut off by a long, rusty sword blade penetrating through his thorax and out his chest. Almost immediately as this happened, the leaders body caught fire, engulfing both the blade and his torso in flames. The stranger, who managed to sneak around to the side and eventually the rear of the stone formations that surround the location, pulled the blade of the (now obvious) Shishkebab out of the raider's body, sending an incredible river of blood pouring from the sword holes. He swivelled on the spot, slicing backhand towards the raider who had stayed inside the wall enclosure and was about to open fire on him. The fiery arc sliced through his neck, cleaning cutting through the muscle and bone, setting both the head and body on fire._

_ Pulling out his magnum with his left hand and moving behind the doorway, he opened fire on the raiders who had advanced on his former cover. All three rounds were dead on target, hitting them in their heads. They fell hard and very fast. The man reloaded his magnum very quickly, the empty chamber still falling when the new chamber was slid inside. He turned around and immediately fired at the returning raiders, catching the first in the left eye and blinding the one behind him as the sprayed brain matter splashed over his unsuspecting face. The stranger now had complete advantage, and he didn't waste his chance. He unloaded his five remaining rounds on the five raiders swarming into the walled enclosure. Every time, his accuracy was perfect, with five more headshots. The blood was starting to gather in great quantities, but it didn't matter to him._

_ He paused; his smoking revolver rose as he stood next to the hanging body of Christine (though her identity was unknown to him) and he looked at her briefly. She was one hell of a mess, though no other bullets from the fight had caught her. The man turned to the opening in front of him as he heard the now scared cries of the two remaining raiders. He heard them run away from their hideout, realising that they couldn't kill the sudden attacker. The man reloaded, and went out to pick off the last 'witnesses', not before muttering to Christine 'I'll be back in a moment. His pistol gleamed in the early morning sun; his sword was slick with blood from the bulky hilt to the tip_

poking out from behind his back. 'You used that? What is it?' she asked, pointing a finger at the sharp metal.

The man slowly reached for the handle, revealing the crafted sword. 'It's a Shishkebab,' he growled. Christine stared in disbelief.

'Who the hell called it that? It's not exactly threatening, is it?'

'Of course you would say that, because you don't know how potent it is. As for the name, I've no fucking clue. How would I know?'

'You seem to know everything else,' said Christine, and an awkward silence followed. 'You didn't just use that did you?'

'No,' he responded, and from the inner left of his jacket pulled out his .44 magnum, holding it aloft. It was huge. 'Yeah, because you can really use a cannon like that,' Christine said sarcastically. The man looked at her, and then pointed it directly between her eyes. Christine sat up as best as she could, and added 'I WAS joking, you know,' cautiously eying the very long barrel.

'And no one's laughing,' he hissed back.

'It's not something you laugh at,' Christine said testily, 'And let me guess; you've got some girl's name carved on the side, because everyone does that.'

'Wrong,' he said, and turned the gun so the barrel turned with it. Christine squinted at what was scratched along the side.

Ceremony

'I'm not gonna ask,' she said exasperatedly. The man replaced the gun and returned to fiddling with the pip-boy. He was quickly interrupted. 'So what's your name?'

The man looked up, leaning on his knees. 'You really can't remember me, can you?'

'What are you talking about? We met around two minutes ago.'

'Wrong. Apart from today, the last time we spoke was-,' he glanced at his own pip-boy 'exactly four years ago. And we had known each other for around eight years before that.'

Christine stared at the ceiling in thought; _How do I know him? He doesn't look familiar in any way. _As if to answer her, the stranger said 'You asked me what I was doing around ten minutes before I exited vault 124.' Christine looked at him for a few seconds… and then it clicked.

'Liam? Liam… Genare?' she said incredulously, 'You're still alive after those four years?'

'I thought that would be obvious now,' muttered Liam, scratching the side of his nose. 'You never knew what happened to me. All you knew was I left the vault when I was seventeen. That's it.'

'Well yeah, but… How are you not dead?'

'I could ask you the same,' said Liam, throwing his arms back

_inside the raider enclosure, taking care not to slip on the massive pools of slowly congealing or trip over one of the many headless bodies. His sepia clothing was heavily stained with the now common liquid. He walked with monotony towards the hanging figure of the woman. He stood in front of her for a few moments, contemplating what to do with the corpse. Slowly he reaches up and unhooks her hands from the hooked ropes. As he laid her along the ground, her hair fell away from her face and Liam realized he knew her._

Christine Shanks… so she was one of the escapees, _he thought. _Too late for her now though.

_ Christine suddenly hissed a cough out, sending out a tiny layer of blood. Liam paused, and then cursed to himself. _Wrong time not to have any stimpacks on me. Hell, I hardly have any bandages on me. Shit… just got to do what I can.

_He carefully and selectively cleaned up some of the more serious wounds Christine had. And little difference was made, but just enough to stop most of the blood flow. He then placed her (with incredible caution) onto his back, keeping her hands together. Leaving the compounds of the camp and turning south east, he began his long trek towards Megaton._

'How you survived? I have an idea but nothing more. How did I survive? Adaptation. Simple as that.'

Christine sighed, and then groaned as her head started sharply throbbing again. He was not easy to talk to. But then again, he never was easy to talk to when they lived in the vault. From what she could remember, he would just hide himself in his own world and not let anyone in, trusting no-one. That's how he was, and her guess was he hadn't changed in that department.

But Christine knew no-one else, and knowing someone was better than no-one. She needed his support. 'Listen, I'm not really in a position to go anywhere right now, but when I do get out of here, do you wanna join up?'

'Why would I do that?'

Christine sighed again, and said 'Because I need someone to help me "adapt", and you need company for the first time in four year, because honestly, you aren't very social. Anyone would look at you and think 'What a miserable bastard.'

'Like I care what people think. I do what everyone else tries to do: survive. It's been four years, and I've prospered in ways most people can't imagine, and I've done it by myself. To trust anyone in this shit-hole of a world is to write your own death warrant, and no-one is an exception.' He stood up and walked over to the doorway, before turning to Christine. 'If you think that I'm wrong and you want to join me, then you better heal fast. I'm leaving this metallic shit-heap in three days, and I'm not waiting around for anyone.' With that, he pushed open the door and left the 'ward'.

**At long last, Chapter 2. The procrastination has been ridiculous, I apologise.**

**So… did you learn anything from this? I know I didn't, apart from the fact it's shit.**

**I have other projects I'm working on, but I will try to update soon (next chapter published: 2014).**

**Until next time.**


	4. Chapter 3: Regret

**Fallout: New Order**

**I still don't own Fallout 3 (which is for the best). It belongs to Bethesda games studio.**

**Behold the next chapter.**

**That's all I can say right now. Just another chapter, really. Maybe It'll be relevant in the future, I don't know.**

Chapter 3: Regret

Three and a half days later. Time: 8:13

The rusted metal lid went up with a flick of a finger, the spark hit the gas and ignited it, and the thin flame burst from the cylindrical opening. Liam lit his cigarette and replaced the aged Zippo in one of his jacket pockets. With a slight rub of his eyes, he looked towards the rising sun (or at least, what he could see of it through the dense clouds), before checking the time on his pip-boy.

_Times almost up, Christine, and time is of the essence._

_Uhh… fuck, this hurts._

Christine had just woken up, and her limbs were pissing her off… again. They were still heavily bandaged, and apart from a couple of cuts healing up, she felt as shitty as ever (her left leg however, was feeling a lot less itchy, and the continual throbbing had gone). The bed she lay in was as cheap as anything, and the frame the mattress rested on was starting to dig into her from below. And to cap it all off, the thought and proposition Liam (that asshole) was constantly floating in her mind.

_Little prick. Why can't he just wait for me to completely heal? Does he have a booked lunch appointment or something? I mean… oh, fuck him, fuck him to hell. Like I need that little asshole. I'll just have to find my way around. It can't be THAT hard…_

If she had been paying attention to herself and realised what she was doing in conjunction with these thoughts, she would have noticed that she was sitting up, that her left arms was raised and her left hand was curled into a fist. After a few seconds as she calmed herself down she blinked and looked at herself, and stared. Carefully and very slowly, she took hold of the bandage that was wound around her left arm, and pulled away the end of it. It came loose; the throbbing was still there, but it came loose.

_What the-_

* * *

><p>'-fuck's wrong with you? Keep up, for Christ's sake. I know you're injured, but it's only a flesh wound in the arm.'<p>

'Go easy, Rose, she's had it a lot rougher than you have. And any baggage is gonna put some strain on the wound, ain't it?'

'It's okay Ad, Megaton's in sight now. Go ahead, I'll be right behind you,' said the third person. Herself (Lii) and Adam (Ad) were the two bodyguards for a loudmouth bitch trader who called herself Rose. They had been in her services for two months now and their patience was running out. But work for two bodyguards like themselves, despite being well-trained and well-experienced, was very hard to come by. So they had decided, being two rather long-term friends (since the two had found their way out of Vault 119), that they would grin and bear it. The wound was caused by a stray bullet a couple of hour's prior hand when they had blundered through the outskirts of Minefield (the name steering them clear from going too deep inside). They had been spotted by a semi-insane sniper who had without provocation opened fire on them: the second bullet piercing Lii's shoulder. It was lucky they had a packed Brahmin with them; otherwise their progress would have been even slower. The bleeding hadn't stopped; it had begun to slow down, but was still leaking, and Lii was really feeling the sharp pain the metal slug had given her. Her pack was feeling heavier by the minute. '_Just a little further Lii… a little further… _were her constant thoughts.

Eventually, after another ten minutes of slow painful walking, they reached the gates. 'Go on, get that arm looked at. I have trading to do. But Adam, stay here,' said Rose the moment the two guards sat down to rest. Adam made some incoherent mumbling sounds, before helping Lii with her pack. Rose fumbled for a cigarette, stuck one between her dry lips and searched for a lighter. A sudden voice made her jump.

'Here, use mine.' Liam shuffled out of the shadows to the right of the door. His Zippo glinted slightly in his outstretched right hand. Rose's left hand had moved to the holster on her leg, but on seeing what he held, she relaxed.

'Thanks,' she said, taking it and lighting up her cigarette. 'Shit, where are my manners? I'm R. Rose, and welcome to my caravan. Are you looking for a gun or armour replacement? Maybe a few medicinal supplies? Or you could just want a meal to go. Whatever it is, I've got it. Take a look if you don't believe me.' She finished with a long drag on her smoke.

'I'm guessing the R stands for 'rambling'. And I believe you, so don't worry,' growled Liam, 'You have any .44 rounds?'

* * *

><p>'-to the right as you hit the bottom of the hill. You can't miss it.'<p>

'Okay. Thank you.'

'You need a hand down?'

'No, it's okay. It's only a flesh wound, but I need it cleaned up by someone who knows what they're doing.'

'Fair 'nough. Remember, I'm here to help, if you need it.' With that, Simms walked up to the entrance and stood watch over his town. Lii watched him for a moment, before walking carefully (to avoid jarring her shoulder) down to the clinic. She reached the door, avoiding the Brahmin grazing outside, and knocked. A rather annoyed voice called 'Just come in already!' and Lii entered.

For a doctor's clinic, it looked like shit. Lii knew that everywhere was dilapidated as fuck, but most health services tried their best to clean up the place. Also, it was tiny. A desk squeezed in next to the door with very little room behind it. There were a couple of chairs in the far corner, a door opposite the entrance, and another one next to the desk. Lii walked to the second one; it was open, and two elderly men were talking quite loudly. One was obviously the doctor, and he didn't seem very friendly. On seeing her, the doctor impatiently said 'Look, can you just wait in that room for a moment, I'm busy right now.' Without waiting for her opinion, he continued to rant at the man. Lii raised her eyebrows, before opening the door she'd see moments ago.

She was slightly disturbed to see someone else lying on the rusty bed that sat in the corner. A woman, who Lii guessed mid-twenties, naked apart from some bandages wrapped around parts of her body and a small blanket stretch across her, lay there, with a small table of medical instruments next to the bed. '_And the problem with waiting outside on those chairs is…?' _she said to herself, sitting down on the one chair in this room. Her shoulder nagged with pain and she tightened the hurriedly made bandage around it. Looking at the woman again, she couldn't help but think that serious injuries were not taken seriously in Megaton. '_Were they operating on her and just stopped halfway through or something?' _came a rather scathing thought. Her thoughts were interrupted by the operation failure suddenly speaking. 'Excuse me…'

Lii double took without realizing, jarring her shoulder. She winced and pressed down on the bandage. 'Yeah?' she said with a pained expression on her face.

'Could you… pass me that water?' croaked the woman, indicating slightly with her left hand. The bottle stood on a table in the other corner of the room.

'Yeah, sure.' Lii got up and picked up the water (which was anything but purified), before giving it to her. 'Can I ask what happened to you?' she added suddenly, 'If it's not… embarrassing… or anything…'

'Raiders.'

'Oh right.' Unbeknownst to Lii, Christine's right fist clenched and her arm tensed itself. 'So how did you get

* * *

><p>'-so many rounds? I rarely find someone with any magnum rounds, but you've got fucking hundreds.'<p>

'Exploration,' growled Liam, 'I've been all over the Capital wasteland, and the places you find .44 caches are commoner than you think. Anyway,' he dropped his cigarette and paused for around a minute in thought, 'I'll take all eight.'

'That's 32 caps.' Liam handed over a small bag of caps. Rose counted them, before pocketing them. 'Another satisfied customer,' she said with a smile, 'You waiting for someone?'

'Yeah. Should be here in a couple of minutes. We're heading North-west for a delivery.'

'North-west? You better watch out, I heard there's a load of Deathclaws nesting up in some cave over that way.'

'I've heard. We'll steer clear of that area,' he muttered, brushing back his hair with one hand. There were a few moments pause as Liam put the bullets in his pack. He then turned his attention to the trader again. 'What happened to your body guard?' There was a lack of interest in his guttural voice. Adam, who had been standing by idly, opened his mouth to speak, but Rose never let him start.

'Oh yes. We were passing by this place called Minefield – I think you know why we didn't go through – when-

The front gate of Megaton slowly creaked open. Rose stopped to see if it was Lii. A woman stepped out, shadowed slightly by the archway in front of the metal gates. However, her Mercenary wear was an indication to her identity.

'Geez Lii, that was fast,' Adam said with a smile, relaxing his arms slightly. 'The bleeding's stopped, yeah?'

'Yeah,' came the response, and Adam stared slightly in surprise. Lii gestured at him with her right arm – and Adam saw the .32 pistol. He aimed his rifle but it was too late. Lii fired three rounds; they struck him in the chest, burying through his leather armour and penetrating his flesh. A small shower of blood emerged as he fell. The assault rifle clattered to the ground, knocking off its cartridge and sending the rounds flying.

'Lii, what the fuck are you doing?' yelled Rose. She pulled out her 10mm sub-machine gun, but Liam grabbed her arm. 'What the-'she began, before Liam plunged his hand-welded knife into her throat. Her gun dropped too. Liam stabbed twice more in the same place. There was a disturbing gurgling sound as the blood flooded into her lungs and fountained out over Liam's arm and most of his face. He let go of her and her limp body dropped to the floor.

* * *

><p>'-just take these pills and rest, Nathan. You're not dying and you haven't been for years. Now get out and stop wasting my time.'<p>

Nathan left with much reluctance, and Doctor Church swore at him under his breath. Nathan was nothing but a burden for him. Church hated hypochondria, and the wrinkled shit that called himself Nathan _ was the biggest hypochondriac he'd ever met. He cleared off the papers on his desk, before walking to Christine's room.

He opened the door, expecting to see a slightly irritated bodyguard and the unconscious form of Christine. Instead, he saw the figure of the bodyguard stretched across the bed, stripped down to her vest and shorts. Her throat was slashed open; the cut was so deep her torn oesophagus was visible through the dark red interior. The blood was splattered all over the bed, and had spread across the floor. Something glinted in the crimson puddle; it was one of Church's scalpels, which he'd left by her bed the night before. There was no sign of Christine.

Doc Church stared for several seconds, before he rushed outside and threw up over the ramp that led to his front door.

* * *

><p>'I was lucky they moved to his office, otherwise they would've spotted me,' Christine said. 'But – Jesus, I didn't want to do that, she seemed real friendly.'<p>

'However, you gave in to your inner humanity and killed her, because you knew I was leaving and you wanted to tag along.'

' I like 'team-up'. It makes you sound less like an egocentrically-set asshole.'

'I prefer tag-along,' because that is exactly what you are doing. We are not teaming up. Working alone suits me best,' said Liam, who was dragging Rose's body along to the side of the Megaton gate. Christine was keeping the packed Brahmin that the trader had owned under control – although it wasn't trying in any way to get away.

'And what is your problem with me?' she asked once he'd returned. 'I don't remember this hostility when we were in the vault.'

'Ask me again in a week. You'll see why. Here.' He gestured to the Brahmin, 'Help me unpack this.'

'Ask in a week? How does that make sense? I'll know by then how irritating I am, is that it?'

'No,' Liam said, almost snarling now, 'I have no personal problem with you. However, a week living in this wasteland will show you why I work alone. There's no-one to trust out there. That's it.'

'That's it?'

'That's it.'

There was a pause as Liam undid some of the bags that were tied to the mutant livestock, before Christine started yelling; 'Then don't be so fucking mysterious about it! Just say 'Because there's no trust in the wasteland.' Don't act like a higher power, just tell me! Jesus, no wonder the rest of us didn't talk to you in the vault, if you acted like a fucking eccentric all the time! Why do you think-'

'If you're coming with me, help me unpack this Brahmin. If not, get the fuck out of my face and don't bother me again. If you have a problem with how I act or how I talk, live with it or don't live with it, because I am not going to change for some whiny bitch who can't cope with the fact that the Wasteland isn't as safe and sound as the vault she crawled out of.' Liam paused to let his words have some effect. 'Now then, what is it to be, Christine?'

It was taking Christine an awful lot of force not to kick the living shit out of Liam. After several seconds as she forced herself to calm down, she muttered 'Give me a knife for these ropes.' Liam took one out of his pocket and handed it to her.

'Just cut the ends,' he growled, 'I'm going to use this mutant myself.'

North of Evergreen Mills. Time: 13:18.

By the time the two wanderers had passed the large raider encampment inside Evergreen mills (the entrance of which they had steered clear of) Christine was thinking she really should've stayed in Megaton. The heated weather and constant movement across the uneven and rock-spattered ground of the Capital wasteland was really taking its toll on her. Her injuries seemed to vanish that morning, but on walking non-stop for over four hours made her realize she was still far from fully recovered.

'_But how did I get up earlier and kill two people? I can only just stand,' _She looked over at Liam, who hadn't said anything since they had departed. '_He probably knows… but he'll make a fucking drama out of it, no doubt.' _She sighed, and pushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear, before speaking. 'Liam?'

Liam grunted in response. Christine took it as a 'yes', and asked.

'You said back in… Megaton that you weren't sure how I survived that raider attack, but you had an idea. What was it?'

'Special.'

There was a peculiar silence, before Christine asked (the curtness already returning to her voice) 'Special?'

'S.P.E.C.I.A.L. It's the physical and mental attributes of a person. The fact that you survived probably has something to do with that.'

'Okay, but what's with the insignia?'

'I'll explain when we get to our destination,' he said. There was a few moments silence, before he added 'Take some Purified water.'

'What?'

'In the metal case on the left, there's some bottles of water. Take one, your voice has gone to shit.'

'Oh. Right.' She found the box and opened it. Inside were a dozen or so bottles. She took one and drank from it. It felt incredibly refreshing on her throat. She was about to say 'Thanks', when she decided against it. 'Where did you get all that?'

'Traders. They all have a couple on them.'

'Right.'

The two of them walked along the cliff strewn, burnt-tree-abundant area for around another half an hour, before Christine decided to speak up again. Before she could get the words out, however, Liam stopped moving and looked to his right slightly.

'What's wrong?' Christine asked. In response, Liam pointed where he stared. A large rock formation stood up around two hundred metres away, with several rough paths trailing around it. It looked very uninteresting, and Christine saw no difference between it and the other billion rock piles they had walked past, apart from the fact it was a lot taller.

'We're here,' Liam growled, and he walked the Brahmin over to a nearby tree (or what were considered trees), tying the rope around its neck to the thin trunk. He then reached for one of the boxes on the two-headed cow and put it on the ground.

'Why aren't we going in?'

'Because there are a couple of things inside we need to clear out before we unpack the gear.' He took the lid off the box and started rummaging inside

'Things? These things are…?' Christine asked without much interest.

Liam looked up at her with a deep seriousness in his eyes. He said one word:

'Deathclaws.'

**And there is Chapter 3. Very simple, no?**

**Chapter 4? It'll take a while (all things come to those who wait).**

**Until then.**


End file.
